


Lost Days in Seireitei

by Copperscript



Series: Arrancar Ichigo/Captain Grimmjow AU [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arrancar Kurosaki Ichigo, Captain Grimmjow, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Shinigami Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, aka the AU where Grimmjow has a pet Hollow named Ichigo, reverse au, the AU where Ichigo is an overpowered Hollow amongst Shinigami
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperscript/pseuds/Copperscript
Summary: [Reverse AU] Gotei 13 Captain Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has gotten used to the peculiar Arrancar captive under his watch. But Ichigo is no lost puppy, and beneath his reiatsu suppressors, a beast of monstrous power lays dormant. Grimmjow waits for that beast to come out and play. He hadn’t counted on someone else taking an interest in Ichigo first.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Arrancar Ichigo/Captain Grimmjow AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822351
Comments: 37
Kudos: 458





	1. The Captain and the Hollow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sayhitoforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayhitoforever/gifts).



> _Note: This is a brief "omake" story set in the verse of[Strangers, Again,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385194) an Arrancar Ichigo/Captain Grimmjow AU._

A rasp at Grimmjow’s door woke the captain too early on a morning he meant to sleep longer than the sun.

Grimmjow rolled over in his bed and dragged the pillow over his head. It was daylight already—he could see so even with eyes closed—but he growled his displeasure and waited for sleep to take him once more.

There did not come another noise at his door, but the culprit had not left. If Grimmjow did not answer, Ichigo would sit out there for hours, in that quiet, patient way he always did.

_Stupid Hollow_.

He should just ignore him. The Hollow needed to learn when to give up, and that Grimmjow was not always available. But then Grimmjow imagined Ichigo sitting in the same position until noon, not making a sound as he waited for him to open the door, and pulled himself upright with a groan.

“What is it, brat?”

The door slid open, and Ichigo stepped inside.

Ichigo wore his favorite sleeveless yukata. His closet was spartan at best, but Grimmjow had noticed he wore this one most often. He suspected Ichigo preferred the softer cotton of this garment to the others. But he was holding the front of the yukata closed with both hands—one at the chest over the spot his Hollow hole was, and the other at the belly. His problem was immediately obvious.

“Where’s your belt?”

Ichigo frowned and looked at the floor.

Grimmjow cursed. “They took it, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

Grimmjow did. Some spineless fucks had stolen Ichigo’s belt, just like the other things that had gone missing from Ichigo’s sparse belongings lately. Like the sandals. Those hadn’t been replaced yet, because Ichigo seemed comfortable enough without shoes. He had been barefoot his whole life in Hueco Mundo, after all. But Grimmjow suspected there were some people who just liked seeing Ichigo barefoot like a peasant.

But there were other things Ichigo _did_ mind, that bothered him enough to look unhappy when they disappeared. The linen bandages he used to wrap across his chest where his Hollow hole was, for instance. He hated when people stared at his Hollow hole, and with it being in such a prominent spot on the center of his chest, the yukata didn’t cover it completely. Or the ties he used to hold back his long orange hair. There was probably more, but Ichigo didn’t tell Grimmjow about every inconvenience he encountered.

Grimmjow went to his closet and took down a white sash belt from a stack. The fine cotton material and intricate weave identified it as part of a captain’s uniform. Though this was probably beyond Ichigo’s recognition, it would be noticeable to everyone else in Seireitei.

Grimmjow wrapped it around Ichigo’s waist and tied it. Ichigo was capable of doing it himself, but Grimmjow wanted it tied so that the insignia of the ninth division was visible.

_Tch._ See if anyone dared to steal this.

“There. Now keep better track of your things.”

Ichigo fingered his new belt thoughtfully and looked at Grimmjow. He was smiling in that strange way with just his eyes.

Like this, Ichigo didn’t look like a Hollow, or an Arrancar, or whatever the fuck he was officially classified as. Grimmjow had once heard that the less an Arrancar retained of their Hollow mask, the more powerful they became, and Ichigo had no mask at all. In his plain blue yukata and bare feet, he looked like a boy from Rukongai.

It was too easy to forget what Ichigo really was, though everyone else seemed intent on reminding both him and Ichigo himself. Constantly.

Grimmjow stretched and gave a yawn that showed all his teeth. “You coming to the new recruit training today?”

Ichigo shook his head.

“You sure? Could be fun. You could scare them shitless.”

Grimmjow snickered to himself, though he knew it wouldn’t happen. Ichigo in his native state, as Grimmjow had first witnessed him back in Hueco Mundo, would have had fresh Academy graduates pissing themselves. But the reiatsu dampeners around Ichigo’s wrists and throat put his available power below the level of a lieutenant. And without his sword, which had been confiscated ever since his arrival in Seireitei, Ichigo looked and felt like an unarmed boy with only modest reiatsu.

If it had been Grimmjow who was gifted with so much raw, innate power, he would die before letting some weaker beings neuter and cuff him like this. Yet Ichigo…

Ichigo was examining leftovers on Grimmjow’s table from his dinner the night before.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “That’s old. You don’t want that.”

He went over, intending to toss the remains into the trash so Ichigo wouldn’t go pawing through his leftovers like some junkyard dog, but then he saw what had caught the Hollow’s attention.

A sweet bean paste bun, which was still untouched because Grimmjow didn’t care for sweets. It was probably still reasonably fresh, because the kitchens made pastries fresh every day, and it hadn’t been sitting out that long yet.

“Heh. Fine. You can have that.”

Permission secured, Ichigo seized the treat and sank his teeth into the soft white bun with a contented noise most unbefitting of a Hollow. The strongest Hollow Grimmjow had ever met, and he could be bought with a fucking snack.

_Stupid Hollow._

…

Ichigo lingered in Grimmjow’s quarters for most of the morning, alternating between watching Grimmjow work and dozing on the floor in front of his desk.

Ichigo didn’t usually sleep all through the night, and often took short naps during the day to make up for it. Perhaps Hollows didn’t have the luxury of uninterrupted sleep. Life in Hueco Mundo was a brutal existence, wherein any new encounter might end in getting devoured. Maybe Ichigo was used to always sleeping with one eye open.

Right now, though, it seemed like both eyes were closed.

Grimmjow put down his pen.

His floor couldn’t be all that comfortable, but Ichigo didn’t seem to know that, curled up on the hard wood. Strange that he was comfortable enough in a Shinigami’s presence to fall asleep. In his current state, Ichigo would be an easy kill if Grimmjow were so inclined to exterminate him.

And there were plenty who would prefer Ichigo dead. Grimmjow wasn’t deaf to the mutterings going on around him, questioning why they permitted a Hollow to walk amongst them in the heart of Seireitei when he should be safely restrained or exterminated.

Ichigo’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up with his mouth half open in that way he did when he was tasting the air for reiatsu. Grimmjow wondered who was coming, but from the eager way Ichigo anticipated the door, he gathered it must be a friend.

Ichigo had precious few of those here, so it could only be Abarai or that Kuchiki girl.

Sure enough, the sound of two sets of footsteps preceded a loud knock on his door.

“Captain Jaegerjaquez!”

The door swung back before he could even answer. Abarai stood taking up the entire doorway. “Oi, Captain. We’re looking for Ichigo.”

Grimmjow had seen more of Abarai in the last few weeks than he had for all the years before Ichigo entered his life. He didn’t need to answer, because Ichigo was already climbing to his feet. The Hollow shot Grimmjow a lingering look over his shoulder, but Grimmjow waved him off.

“Get out of here, brat.”

“Thanks, Captain! We’ll have him back by nightfall.”

_Tch._ As though Grimmjow needed to know where Ichigo was at all hours, like the Hollow was some kind of pet dog.

Abarai was tolerable, if only because he got Ichigo out of Grimmjow’s hair for a few hours at a time. Kuchiki, Grimmjow had hardly noticed her existence before she’d befriended Ichigo, but he supposed she was preferable to that frigid brother of hers. Ichigo could find worse to spend his time with.

And they did always have him back before dark.

…

The new recruits were nothing special.

Grimmjow had arrived to the training session to observe, but not one amongst the rows and rows of wide-eyed graduates stood out to him, neither in fighting ability nor reiatsu. The recruits had sparred harder, yelled louder, and run faster upon his arrival, for it was common knowledge that division nine’s lieutenant position remained vacant and Captain Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez intended to leave it so until someone caught his eye.

Grimmjow left barely a half hour later.

The sun was falling as Grimmjow headed towards the kitchens to pick up his dinner. Dinner tonight was a choice of fish over rice or stewed vegetables in a hearty chicken broth. Grimmjow chose the fish, and almost put back the sweet mung bean jelly before he thought of Ichigo finishing off his dessert bun that morning.

He kept the jelly, and also took an extra.

It was dark by the time he returned to his quarters. Grimmjow ate his dinner alone, and left the two portions of dessert on his desk.

As he set the dirty dishes outside, he looked down the darkening streets, and frowned.

Ichigo was always back by now. Even if he was sleeping on Grimmjow’s roof tonight, like he sometimes did, he would have first shown up at Grimmjow’s door to show him whatever new snack or trinket he’d obtained from a day out with Abarai and the Kuchiki girl.

Grimmjow checked the roof above his quarters. Ichigo wasn’t there.

Could Abarai and Kuchiki really still have him out at this hour?

_Tch. Let him stay out all night if he wants to. I’m not his fucking keeper._

Except Ichigo wasn’t some wayward kid out on the town. He was a captive Hollow, unarmed and reiatsu suppressed, in a place where almost everyone would prefer him dead.

Grimmjow pulled on a robe and belted it hastily as he stepped out into the night. He was halfway to the sixth division barracks when he spotted Abarai walking down the street. Even in the dark, Grimmjow couldn’t mistake that ridiculous red hair for anyone else’s.

Abarai was alone.

“Oi, Captain Jaegerjaquez!” Abarai waved when he saw Grimmjow approaching.

Grimmjow didn’t return the greeting. “Where is Ichigo?”

“Eh?”

“Ichigo,” Grimmjow repeated. “Is he with Kuchiki?”

“Captain Kuchiki?”

“Kuchiki Rukia!” Grimmjow’s fingers itched for Pantera. How had someone so stupid as Abarai ever made it to lieutenant rank? “Is he with her?”

“No. Ichigo went back before dinner. He’s not with you?”

Abarai’s expression was concerned. He wasn’t bright enough to lie convincingly; he didn’t know where Ichigo was either.

“Where did you last see him?”

“Walking towards your quarters, just before sunset.”

Grimmjow had been out getting his dinner. He cursed. Ichigo must have missed him and—and then what? Where would he have gone after that?

He turned to leave with a shunpo, ignoring Abarai shouting after him.

The streets of Seireitei passed in a blur beneath his feet as Grimmjow took to the rooftops, hoping the higher vantage point would give him a better view of the streets below. In the dark, each street looked like the next, the buildings identical and landmarks melting together.

Grimmjow stretched his senses, but Ichigo’s reiatsu was suppressed enough that it took some effort to feel even at close distances. As it was now, he sensed nothing at all.

Where had that idiot Hollow wandered off to? Didn’t he know how stupid it was to be out alone after dark, or how many people would gladly kill him because they couldn’t stand his existence in Seireitei?

Perhaps it hadn’t been his choice. Ichigo could have been taken by someone against his will. Maybe he was in Kurotsuchi’s lab? But no, Kurotsuchi always informed Grimmjow ahead of time if he wanted Ichigo for testing. That had been a condition of their arrangement.

If not Kurotsuchi, then there could still be countless others who wanted Ichigo for any number of reasons. A Hollow that powerful, made that defenseless—

_There!_

Grimmjow stopped, grasping at the faint sense of Ichigo’s unmistakable Hollow reiatsu. He backtracked and dropped down to street-level.

Two figures stood close together upon a bridge overlooking a small creek. One was Ichigo—with the long hair and the plain yukata, which no Shinigami wore—and the other wore a captain’s white haori.

What the hell was Ichigo doing alone with Aizen?

Ichigo turned at Grimmjow’s approach, his eyes wide. Grimmjow sensed he had interrupted something he was not meant to.

“Ichigo,” he called, and Ichigo came to him gladly.

“Ah, Captain Jaegerjaquez.” Aizen smiled. “Was it you who gave him that name?”

_Him._ Besides Abarai and the Kuchiki girl, Grimmjow had yet to hear another Shinigami call Ichigo a ‘ _him_ ,’ rather than an ‘ _it._ ’ Ever polite, Aizen was, even to a Hollow.

“No.” Ichigo was looking away—at Grimmjow, at the streets behind them, at the ground. Anywhere but Aizen. What had gotten the Hollow so on edge? “What were you doing?”

“We were just discussing the merits of life in Soul Society compared to Hueco Mundo. Ichigo has adjusted well to his new home.”

Grimmjow’s heart was racing, though there was no threat. Ichigo was fine—he had only been with Aizen this whole time. “Yeah. He has. We’ll be going now.”

“Good night, Captain Jaegerjaquez, Ichigo.”

The streets were near empty as they walked back to the ninth division’s barracks. Ichigo kept pace at Grimmjow’s side, his voice as silent as his steps, until Grimmjow finally had to ask.

“What were you really talking about with Aizen back there?”

“What things are like in Soul Society compared to Hueco Mundo,” said Ichigo.

“So, exactly as Aizen said? There was nothing else?”

Ichigo shook his head.

“Hn.” Grimmjow scowled. “Why did you take off after you left Kuchiki and Abarai? You’re lucky it was only Aizen. Have you forgotten how many Shinigami around here would love to make a Hollow-kebab outta you?”

Ichigo made a face. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not like this, you can’t.” Was Ichigo stupid? Maybe he was having a hard time adjusting to his new limits and hadn’t quite come to the realization that he was far weaker than his natural state. “So don’t be an idiot and go running off with any goddamn Shinigami who gives you the time of day.”

Ichigo flashed him a glare so heated that Grimmjow stopped in place. “I didn’t _want_ to go with him!”

Grimmjow raised a brow. “Did he force you?”

“No! I—he—” Ichigo struggled to find the right words, then threw up his hands and sighed, quietly. “He was persuasive.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Aizen can be a charming fucker.”

From the look Ichigo threw him, Grimmjow did _not_ get it.

They returned to Grimmjow’s quarters, where Ichigo zeroed in on the two portions of dessert on the desk.

“You can have them.” Grimmjow did not tell him they had been intended for him all along.

Ichigo didn’t need to eat, strictly speaking. As far as Grimmjow knew, Hollows only ate spirits and other Hollows, and to that end, they were ruled by their appetite with a monstrous intensity. But Kurotsuchi had commented, in his early findings, that Ichigo’s reiatsu was purely his own, rather than the amalgamation of other devoured souls typical of Hollows.

Grimmjow wasn’t sure what that meant. That Ichigo had somehow clawed his way to the top of the Hollow food chain by nothing but his own growing power? It was inconceivable.

In any case, the only thing Ichigo seemed hungry for was sweets. It was hard not to stare; Ichigo devoured sweets like he had never tasted anything like it before and never would again.

“You’re gonna rot your teeth.”

Ichigo ignored him, and started on the second jelly.

While he ate, Grimmjow shed his robe, stripping down to his usual sleep garments. He prepared his bed. Ichigo finished, thanked Grimmjow for the treat, and made to leave.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

Ichigo pointed up.

The roof again. Grimmjow couldn’t think of a less comfortable place to spend the night.

“Why do you do that? You got your own quarters.”

Ichigo shrugged in a surprisingly casual manner. He must have learned the gesture from Abarai. But Grimmjow supposed he slept on his roof for the same reason he napped on the floor while Grimmjow worked, or followed Grimmjow on the rooftops when he was walking the streets.

Whatever. It was none of Grimmjow’s business if Ichigo woke up with a horrible cramp in his neck from sleeping on a goddamned roof.

“Fine. See ya, Ichigo.”

Grimmjow laid down, and it wasn’t until after he heard Ichigo’s weight shuffling about on the roof over his head and finally go still that he closed his eyes.

Dumbass Hollow better not fall off the roof and wake him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sparring with Ichigo was one of Grimmjow’s favorite activities these days.

Not with reiatsu, or with swords—with Ichigo shackled as he was it would have hardly been fair. But in hand-to-hand combat, Ichigo was a close match to Grimmjow, close enough that he worked the captain to the bones every time.

Grimmjow had been at the top of his class in hand-to-hand combat disciplines back in his Academy days. Ichigo, on the other hand, didn’t have formal training in any recognized fighting form or technique. He fought purely on instinct, like an animal turned loose from its cage, relying on sharp reflexes and intuition to evade and land hits.

Grimmjow loved every minute of it.

The first time he’d ended up in division four’s infirmary after a good beatdown from Ichigo, Unohana had set his arm with a splint, turned to Ichigo sitting nearby with his chest puffed out, and said, “Ichigo-san, I would appreciate if you break no more bones.”

Ichigo had taken one look at her smiling face, and shrunk in on himself, nodding in agreement.

“Hey, I didn’t agree to that!” Grimmjow had protested. But then Unohana turned that smile on him, and Grimmjow changed his mind.

Today, Ichigo was distracted. He didn’t see the knee to his sternum until Grimmjow was a hair’s width away, and he went down with a heavy groan. Grimmjow didn’t let up—he’d learned early on that Ichigo never stayed down until he was well and truly beaten—so he finished the move with a kick to Ichigo’s gut that sent him flying, and then, before Ichigo can right himself, a flurry of punches to his chest.

Grimmjow let him fall onto his back, planted a foot in his chest, and put a finger to his throat.

“ _Bankai_ ,” Grimmjow growled the word that announced a victorious match in his favor. He held Ichigo there for a moment, but the grin and elation that usually accompanied a win wouldn’t come. He let up. “That was too easy. What’s the matter with you today?”

Ichigo rose to his feet. His lip was bleeding, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Sorry, Grimmjow.”

“ _Tch_. You owe me a better fight tomorrow.”

They went to the river. Grimmjow would ordinarily use the bath house, but Ichigo wasn’t permitted inside, so more often than not, they washed off in the river after their matches.

The sun was climbing higher towards midday, and in this heat it wouldn’t take long to dry afterwards. They turned away from each other as they did their washing in silence. Finally, Grimmjow could take no more of the gloomy mood.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Hollow? You wake up on the wrong side of the roof?”

He could practically hear Ichigo prickle.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. Ichigo. Seriously, what’s with you today?”

It didn’t seem like Ichigo was going to answer, so Grimmjow rolled his eyes and shook the water out of his hair before wading to the bank. Who knew what Hollows moped over.

“I’ll be back before dark from now on.”

Grimmjow looked up. Ichigo was still in waist-high water, his back turned to Grimmjow and his long orange hair gathered over one shoulder. Grimmjow could see straight through the Hollow hole in his upper back to the river on the other side. _Freaky._ Grimmjow had seen a million Hollow holes before, but it felt most strange and out of place on something that looked so…human.

“Eh?” Was that all? Ichigo was upset because…he’d stayed out after dark last night? Because Grimmjow had snapped at him for not coming right back after his day with Kuchiki and Abarai? “Whatever, brat. I ain’t your mother.”

Ichigo didn’t answer to that. He started towards the bank, the water receding down his hips and thighs, and Grimmjow averted his eyes.

After they were dried and dressed, Grimmjow followed his stomach to the kitchens. Instead of tagging along on the rooftops as he often did, Ichigo walked beside him in plain sight.

People parted before them like a tide, and it was not entirely by Grimmjow’s reputation and status. Eyes tracked Ichigo every step he took, and the whispers that Grimmjow’s ears missed, Ichigo’s caught.

“— _monster_ —”

“— _fucking joke, letting that thing stay here_ —”

Ichigo kept his gaze straight. His feet carried him forward, after Grimmjow whose blue hair and white captain’s haori were anchors to Ichigo’s wavering mind.

This close to noon, the mess hall was crowded. Grimmjow skipped the line to the front to take his food, and Ichigo went with him. The kitchens were off-limits to him, but still he paused in front of the dessert aisle where today’s choices were skewers of syrup-dipped dango and little bowls of mango flavored jelly with sweet cream poured over them. The syrup glistened. The jelly smelled so fragrant it must have been made just that morning.

“Move it, Hollow.”

Ichigo turned.

A very tall Shinigami stood at his back. His eyes read disdain, as did the vicious curl of his lip. He looked down his nose at Ichigo, lingering for a moment on the Hollow hole in his chest in a way that made Ichigo wish he had chosen his yukata with the high neckline today. All around them, the ambient chatter had gone quiet, and too many people were staring at Ichigo. His skin prickled.

“Hollows only eat souls.”

Ichigo frowned, but he stepped away from the desserts. The Shinigami was right, and food from the kitchens really wasn’t intended for him.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Grimmjow’s voice rose above the crowd, which yielded before him. The captain carried his food, but it might as well have been Pantera in his hand, judging from the way the other Shinigami jumped back.

“Captain Jaegerjaquez.” The tall Shinigami dipped his head to the captain. “I was simply…educating the Hollow. It is banned from indoor public spaces like the kitchens.”

Grimmjow looked the Shinigami up and down. He didn’t recognize him. Neither name nor division number came to mind. This pathetic weak fuck, who wasn’t even strong enough to have a name in Grimmjow’s memory, thought he could throw his weight around to tell Ichigo what he had rights to.

“I brought him. You gonna tell me what I can’t do?”

“N—no, Captain.” The Shinigami kept his head down, for Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez’ temper was famous in Seireitei, and everyone knew to steer clear of his occasional foul moods.

But it was too late. Grimmjow smelled blood in the water. “Yeah? Tell me again whatcha think this Hollow needs _educating_ about, huh?” Grimmjow advanced on the hapless Shinigami. He did not bother unsheathing Pantera—he didn’t need his sword to deal with this trash. In a swift lunge like a wildcat pouncing, Grimmjow grabbed the Shinigami by the throat and drove him back into the wall. The crowd scattered like rabbits.

He squeezed. The hoarse, panicked animal sounds of a man being throttled by his own hand made his heart beat faster. Blood rushed in his ears. Colors bled sharper—the exhilarating red of the Shinigami’s face turning to ruddy purple, the blue of his lips and the white froth upon them. Grimmjow’s eyes gleamed manic, his face split ear-to-ear in a shark’s smile.

There was a touch on his shoulder.

Ichigo stood at his side, one hand on his haori and the other, unseen, on Grimmjow’s temper.

The mad light in Grimmjow’s eyes quelled. His grip loosened and he dropped the Shinigami.

“Heh. Scram, ya little roach.”

Grimmjow barely heard the coughing and gasping behind him as he turned to the dessert display. Which ones had Ichigo been looking at? Grimmjow wasn’t sure, so he grabbed one of each.

“Come on, Ichigo.”

Halfway back to the ninth division’s barracks, Ichigo spoke up.

“I think that man was from your division, Grimmjow.”

Was he? Maybe it was a good thing Ichigo had stopped him from crushing his windpipe then. A third incident report this month might have landed him in old man Yama’s office with a lecture about how he shouldn’t be thinning out his own ranks more than the Hollows.

They found an open spot in the ninth division’s courtyard, and sat down in the shade of a broad-crowned maple. Grimmjow took out his meal and put the desserts down in front of Ichigo. The Hollow’s eyes were very large.

Heh. Who cared about incident reports? The Captain Commander’s lectures were all bark, no bite anyways.

Grimmjow’s mind was only half on his own food. Syrup dripped onto Ichigo’s fingers as he tore into the little skewer of pastel-pink and yellow rice balls.

On the subject of Hollow emotions, Grimmjow knew very little. Most Shinigami would agree that Hollows could feel rage and hunger, certainly, and perhaps fear. But joy, affection, loneliness, yearning?

Ichigo’s expressions were muted at times, but not for lack of feeling. Why else would he forsake the comfort of a proper bed to sleep on Grimmjow’s roof? Why did he seek out treats, even though he did not, as that weak fuck had stated back in the mess hall, need to eat food?

“Don’t let weaklings like that push you around.”

Ichigo looked up.

Grimmjow’s lip curled at the memory of it. That weak as piss Shinigami, who ordinarily would be no more than a shit stain on the bottom of Ichigo’s shoe, telling Ichigo he couldn’t have something.

Grimmjow had seen Ichigo in his true state, unfettered and wild, his face a terrifying white mask with great horns, his Cero more destructive than the sun. The magnificence of it was forever etched into Grimmjow’s mind. That shit stain Shinigami wouldn’t have been able to _breathe_ in such a presence.

“Take what you want, Ichigo.” Strength like what Ichigo had was for _taking_. The weak had no right to deny the strong.

“It was only dessert, Grimmjow.”

“I don’t care.” Grimmjow stared at him fierce. “You take what you want, and don’t apologize for it.”

Ichigo gave him that look Grimmjow was so used to by now—bright-eyed but stoic, his face a mask as surely as the white horned skull he no longer wore.

…

Ichigo did not go to the mess hall with him that night to fetch Grimmjow’s dinner, but Grimmjow brought back a custard and chocolate filled taiyaki nonetheless. The Hollow was sitting on Grimmjow’s roof when he returned with the setting sun at his back.

Grimmjow held up the treat, and Ichigo dropped down to the ground to take it. He sniffed the dessert first, and Grimmjow realized this might be the first time he had ever seen one. Taiyaki was a less frequent snack on the kitchen’s rotation.

“It’s called taiyaki,” said Grimmjow. “It’s got…custard or some shit in it.”

Ichigo took a bite. With the outer shell broken, the treat oozed custard and chocolate onto Ichigo’s fingers, but the Hollow didn’t seem to mind, because he closed his eyes as he chewed and made a low rumble deep in his throat.

“Heh. You like that, huh?”

Grimmjow entered his quarters, and left the door open in case the Hollow might prefer to spend part of the evening inside rather than up on the roof like a creep. He was rewarded when Ichigo came in to finish his treat.

There were expense reports to finish, things that actually needed a captain’s signature and approval and couldn’t be punted down to the seated officers of his division. Grimmjow knelt at his desk with a sigh.

This was easily the worst part of his job title. Ordinarily, a lieutenant would be responsible for the bulk of mundane paperwork, but Grimmjow’s stubborn refusal to fill the vacancy in his division meant there was more to delegate on the lower seated officers, and some he couldn’t avoid doing himself.

It wasn’t _his_ fault the Shinigami ranks were full of weaklings. Grimmjow wasn’t about to settle for second-best just to fill a position.

His lieutenant had to be _strong_ —willful, dangerous, unwavering in battle. Grimmjow demanded a lieutenant capable of holding his own, with the strength to stand on his own two feet without his captain’s aid. For as long as nobody met that standard, the position would remain vacant.

Ichigo had finished the treat.

He sat now in front of Grimmjow’s desk licking custard off his hand, pink tongue laving over fingers and down his palm and narrow wrist. His fingers were long, graceful and possessed by the youthful masculinity Ichigo’s human form wielded so effortlessly. They belonged clasped around the hilt of a sword.

Grimmjow had no idea where the Hollow’s zanpakutō was kept now. Did Ichigo miss it? Grimmjow could not imagine being forcibly parted from Pantera for any length of time.

Ichigo was looking at him with a questioning tilt of his head.

Grimmjow started. How long he had been staring at the Hollow?

“You’re distracting me, brat.”

But Grimmjow’s tone had no bite to it, so Ichigo ignored him and came closer. He sat down beside Grimmjow and looked at his work.

Could he read?

Grimmjow watched his face, but the Hollow’s eyes passed over the papers with neither purpose nor comprehension, and his attention faded quickly. Oh. Of course he couldn’t read. It wasn’t as though Hueco Mundo had books.

“They’re expense reports,” said Grimmjow, because he sensed Ichigo was wondering what he was doing. “It’s paperwork I gotta do, because I’m Captain. I hate this shit.”

Ichigo gave him a look—slight frown, a brow raised—that read plainly, _‘So don’t do them.’_

Grimmjow smirked. “Would be nice if it were that simple. You know how much paperwork I had to do when I first met _you_?”

Ichigo raised both brows.

“Yeah, shit loads. Old man Yama and the pencil pushers at Central forty-six wanted _everything_ about our encounters with you documented. There’s a nice fat stack of papers about you stashed away somewhere.”

Probably more than just a fat stack. With all that Kurotsuchi had been experimenting on Ichigo, there was probably an entire filing cabinet full of information about him. Did Ichigo consider the implications of this?

Grimmjow knew, without having to ask, that Ichigo either didn’t know, or didn’t care. Every shred of information the Shinigami were collecting about him—about his reiatsu, his powers, his limits, his weaknesses—the ultimate purpose of it all was to learn how to destroy him, and any other Hollows like him that may be out there.

Grimmjow’s stomach turned uneasily. What was the end point of this all? When Seireitei had learned all they wished to learn from Ichigo, what did they plan for Ichigo then?

They would not turn him loose back into Hueco Mundo, that much was certain.

“Ichigo…” Grimmjow swallowed. “Why did you let yourself get captured?”

Perhaps the rest of the Gotei were arrogant or stupid enough to believe they had entrapped and subdued Ichigo with the cleverness of their kidō spells, but Grimmjow knew better. His memory of that moment was clear as day.

Ichigo in his true form, staring at Grimmjow from across an invisible kidō trap. The intelligent glint in his yellow eyes and the intent behind them as he knowingly, _deliberately_ stepped into it. His placid acceptance as the Shinigami approached and tethered him.

Why?

Ichigo frowned, but he stayed silent. Ichigo had a voice, but he chose when not to use it. Often, it was when Grimmjow wished to hear him speak. What went on inside that head of his, when he chose to be quiet? Grimmjow sighed, but then Ichigo opened his mouth:

“I wanted to go with you.”

What…the fuck was that supposed to mean? Go with Grimmjow? They had been virtual strangers at that point.

Grimmjow turned away with a scowl. “You are a dumb fuck, you know that?”

Ichigo accepted the insult without a flinch. He stretched out on his back beside Grimmjow and crossed his arms under his head. Grimmjow got back to work.

As it turned out, there wasn’t much left for him to do at all. Third seat Shuhei had filled out most of the forms already, leaving Grimmjow to just review and sign.

New uniforms? _Tch._ What did they need new uniforms for? The current ones were fine. Grimmjow stamped the form unapproved. Repairs for the training grounds—approved. Expanded funds for the _Seireitei Communication Monthly_? Grimmjow reached for the unapproved stamp, but then he glanced down at Ichigo, who had closed his eyes and was breathing slow and deep. The Hollow liked to curl up with those magazines whenever he got his hands on them, and he would spend hours leafing through the pages looking at pictures, especially the comics.

Grimmjow stamped it approved.

By the time he had finished the pile, the hour was late and Ichigo was fast asleep. Grimmjow nudged him with his foot. “I’m going to bed. Get out.”

Ichigo opened one eye and scowled, turning his back to Grimmjow. Grimmjow kicked him harder, and when Ichigo didn’t react to that either, he reached down to pick the Hollow up by his yukata and forcibly march him out.

Quick as a snake, Ichigo turned his head and sank sharp teeth into flesh. Grimmjow hissed and pulled his hand back. Red bloomed on his knuckles.

“You vicious little asshole.” Grimmjow grinned. Ichigo may be captive, but he certainly was not docile, and he reminded Grimmjow of this every so often.

But Ichigo did get up. He yawned—Grimmjow’s blood still on his teeth—and stretched before taking himself to the door.

Grimmjow wondered if he was irritated enough to sleep in his own quarters tonight, but a few seconds later he heard Ichigo landing on the rooftop. What did he do up there at night, the little creep? Slurp up Grimmjow’s reiatsu while he slept?

Grimmjow stuck his knuckles in his mouth and sucked off the blood. A tiny echo of Ichigo’s reiatsu whispered across his tongue, and Grimmjow let it linger a moment before dissipating.

Definitely tasted like Hollow, and yet…not unpleasant.

…

Grimmjow woke with gnawing unease in the pit of his gut.

He pulled the covers over his eyes to block out the sunlight and for a long moment, he lay in bed trying to identify the cause. Today was Sunday. He had no training sessions with the lower seated officers scheduled. He had finally completed those expense reports Shuhei had been on his ass about for a week. There should be nothing weighing on him, no urgency to get up.

It was too bright. Why was the sun up so high? That Hollow brat usually would have woken him before now.

Grimmjow sat up in a flash.

Ichigo.

It was unusual for Ichigo to have let him sleep in so late. Unless he had knocked and Grimmjow hadn’t heard—but he would have heard. Grimmjow slept light.

Grimmjow found a slipper and hefted it in his hand before throwing it up. It hit the ceiling with a loud _smack_. There. If the Hollow was still on his roof, he would have heard that for sure.

“Oi, Ichigo!”

There was no answering noise, no scrabble of feet on the roof tiles, no scratch at his door. Grimmjow scowled.

It wasn’t that he was _worried_ where Ichigo might be. But Ichigo seemed to like routine, and the one he had with Grimmjow was familiar. Ichigo would wake him with a noise at his door, around seven o’clock. Grimmjow would eat breakfast, and then they went sparring in that grassy field near the river. Post-spar bath in the river, then lunch, and the rest of the day varied depending on what duties Grimmjow had and whether Abarai and the Kuchiki girl came by for Ichigo.

That was how most days went.

Unease gripped him. Ichigo never missed their morning spars, and he was the most persistent and annoying alarm clock Grimmjow had ever had.

Grimmjow dressed and went outside. He didn’t bother checking the roof; Ichigo never ignored him. He hadn’t answered when Grimmjow called, so he wasn’t there.

Seireitei bustled in mid-morning. A squad of eleventh division members ran past on their morning jog, the mess halls and kitchens were bustling with people grabbing breakfast to-go, and the central courtyard played host to a group of students on tour from the Shinō Academy.

“Good morning, Captain Jaegerjaquez!” The tour leader waved at Grimmjow from across the courtyard. Grimmjow kept walking.

By late morning, Grimmjow had already been to the mess hall, the courtyard, the sixth division barracks, and the thirteenth. Ichigo was in none of his usual favorite places, not even that bakery where he had been explicitly banned from.

“ _Fucking Hollow_ ,” Grimmjow growled to himself. Where the fuck had he gone off to that he would miss their morning spar?

A familiar thought rose to the surface of Grimmjow’s mind, one that he usually kept barricaded behind distractions and self-assurances: There was no more dangerous place to be a Hollow than in Seireitei.

Grimmjow shook the thought loose. It was broad daylight. No one would dare try something right now, when all of Seireitei was awake and out. The last time Ichigo had been missing, just two days ago, he had only been with Aizen.

 _Aizen_.

Grimmjow still didn’t understand why they had been together, but…was it possible Ichigo was with him again?

Grimmjow’s feet were already taking him towards the bridge where he had found Ichigo and Aizen before. It stood over a creek bordering the courtyard of the ninth division, shadowed by weeping cherry trees, a quiet, scenic little area which saw little foot traffic. But as he approached, there were no figures standing upon the bridge.

Grimmjow cursed, and was almost ready to turn back and check his quarters again, in case Ichigo had returned there.

A splash of bright orange caught his eye below the bridge. Grimmjow knew that color.

He advanced, and standing there at the creek’s bank like a statue gazing into the water, was Ichigo.

“Oi, Ichigo.” Grimmjow leapt down from the bridge onto the bank beside him. Once again, he was made a fool—Ichigo was _fine_. What had Grimmjow thought was going to happen to him? “What the fuck are you doing here? You missed our morning—”

Ichigo turned to look at him, his jaw tight, his eyes wide. Grimmjow stopped.

He glanced the Hollow over from head to toe, but there was no injury on him. Ichigo appeared untouched. “What were you doing here?” Grimmjow asked again, slowly this time.

With a small frown, Ichigo turned his gaze askance. Grimmjow sensed there would be no answer forthcoming, so he rolled his eyes and sighed. Whatever. The Hollow was fine, so what did it matter what he was doing here all by himself?

Grimmjow, on the other hand, had been running all over Seireitei this morning searching for him. His stomach reminded him it was near noon and he hadn’t even had breakfast, thanks to this brat.

“Let’s go, Ichigo. I’m starving.”

…

Ichigo was pensive for the remainder of the day. He spoke little and seemed to have only half a mind when Grimmjow spoke to him. Grimmjow’s patience ran dry when the Hollow declined Abarai and Kuchiki’s invitation to the shopping district that afternoon.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” he demanded. “I could use some peace instead of you hovering over me all afternoon.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at him, and then he was gone in a flash of sonído.

Grimmjow stared at the spot he had been, replaying his last words over in his head.

Well, shit.

Who knew the Hollow was so sensitive?

…

Grimmjow attempted to meditate with Pantera that evening, but found his focus wavering as every few minutes, he opened his eyes to glance out the window. He had left it open. Sunset had come and gone, and the day’s light was quickly fading into dark blues and purple.

It would be dark soon, and Ichigo still wasn’t back. Had his little comment this afternoon really pissed off that Hollow that much?

Grimmjow sheathed Pantera. There was no way he could meditate right now. He didn’t look forward to a repeat of the other night, searching for Ichigo after dark.

 _Dumb fuck Hollow_. Grimmjow rose to his feet. If Ichigo was going to be such a little bitch over an offhand comment, he should at least have the good sense to pout about it in his own room at night. Or on Grimmjow’s roof. Either would do.

He was just about to pull on a robe to go out once more when a shadow passed in front of the open window. Ichigo slipped inside.

“Done sulking?” Grimmjow asked scathingly. But the weight on his chest lifted; breathing seemed to come easier now.

Ichigo nodded slowly, his handsome face so solemn that Grimmjow couldn’t help but crack a smile. Damn, but the Hollow was _nice_ to look at.

“I brought you dessert,” said Grimmjow, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the table. “And I expect a good match from you tomorrow—”

“It was Aizen.”

Huh? The fuck was Ichigo talking about?

“This morning. I was with him at the bridge again.”

Again? What the hell was Ichigo doing with Aizen _again_? Was that why Ichigo had been so fucking touchy all day? Grimmjow couldn’t see why. Aizen was as mild-mannered as they came, and though Ichigo was probably right to be wary around other Shinigami, Aizen was hardly going to attack him unprovoked.

“Okay. He gonna take you on playdates too now like Kuchiki and Abarai?”

Ichigo whirled on him. “I did not want to go with him!”

“Then don’t go with him. What’s the big deal?” Grimmjow shrugged. “So what did you do with him?”

Ichigo unclenched his fists. He seemed to think hard about this for a moment before shaking his head. “We talked.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“What about?”

“Our zanpakutō.”

That caught Grimmjow’s attention. Ichigo rarely spoke about his sword, but from what Grimmjow understood, an Arrancar’s zanpakutō carried a similar significance to a Shinigami’s. But whereas Shinigami bore the names of their zanpakutō proudly, and the most famous among them were known to all, Arrancar guarded their sword’s names with jealous secrecy. Grimmjow had seen Ichigo’s zanpakutō before, a long, slender, all-black blade stunning in its deadly grace. He had felt it split his flesh and taste his blood, but he had not heard Ichigo call it by name.

“Yeah? What’d you tell him?”

Ichigo scowled. “Nothing. But he showed me his zanpakutō and its release.”

Grimmjow raised a brow. “Kyōka Suigetsu? He showed you his shikai? What was that like?”

“It was…beautiful.” Ichigo looked down at his feet. “Like shimmering water.”

“So I’ve heard. He gathered all the captains once for a demonstration, but I wasn’t there.” Grimmjow barked a laugh. “I’m surprised he would show you.”

Ichigo still looked constipated. Grimmjow thumped him on the back.

“Unclench already. Aizen’s harmless.” Well, not _harmless_ exactly—he was still a captain, and had the power to back that up. But Ichigo had less to worry from him than most everyone else in Seireitei. “But whatever. Quit going off with him if you’re gonna be bitchy all day when you do.”

Ichigo nodded. He went to the desk and picked up the sweet bun Grimmjow had brought back from the kitchens for him. Holding it to his nose, Ichigo took a sniff and his shoulders lost some of their tension. When he looked back to Grimmjow, he was smiling with just his eyes again.

“Goodnight, Grimmjow,” said the Hollow, and he went out the window.

Grimmjow blinked.

Ichigo had never said a pleasantry like ‘goodnight’ before. More often than not, he simply entered and exited rooms without greeting or segue. Another thing he’d picked up from Abarai and Kuchiki, perhaps?

Heh. That Hollow was becoming more human by the day.


	3. Chapter 3

Ichigo didn’t stray much in the next few days.

Grimmjow took to leaving his window unlocked and cracked open at night, so that in the morning Ichigo could slip inside instead of sitting at his door or getting spirited away by Aizen while waiting for Grimmjow to rise.

It was at first unnerving to have a powerful creature sitting quietly in the corner of his room while he was still half-asleep in the morning, but Grimmjow dared to say he did not feel threatened by Ichigo.

The Hollow had cut him open from collar to hip upon their first meeting, beat his ass nearly every morning during their spars, and even bitten him more than once. But he would not attack Grimmjow while he was sleeping.

This morning, Ichigo had come in through the window and made himself comfortable on the cushioned mat which Grimmjow used to meditate. The sun rose higher, and Grimmjow didn’t hear him stir. He opened one eye.

The Hollow was sprawled out on his back, his orange hair fanned out over the floor, his long legs stretched over the edge of the mat, his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell with soft breaths.

Ichigo appeared like a quiet, polite thing sometimes, but he slept like a predator—relaxed, taking up all available space, his belly exposed and open even in the presence of another. This was a creature who was accustomed to waking at a moment’s notice fully alert and ready to defend himself, but who also knew there were few things that could pose a real threat to him.

Just like his hair. No fighter grew hair that long unless he was reasonably certain he was strong enough, fast enough that it couldn’t be used as a handhold against him in battle.

Grimmjow frowned.

Ichigo’s subconscious hadn’t caught up yet to the reality that he was sealed now. He was not an apex predator here in Seireitei, as he had been in Hueco Mundo. He could not afford to be so relaxed.

Grimmjow’s gut turned. Quietly, he picked up his sandal and threw it at the Hollow’s head.

In a flash, Ichigo was awake and the sandal swatted to the side. He narrowed his eyes at Grimmjow.

Grimmjow breathed out his tension. Sealed or not, the Hollow still had excellent reflexes and instincts.

“Who said you can sleep on my meditation mat?” he said.

With pointed silence in answer, Ichigo yawned and stretched. The yukata he wore was short, and it rode up his thighs as he flexed every muscle in a sinuous ripple down his spine. His legs were distractingly long.

Grimmjow dragged his gaze away. His eyes did not go willingly.

A scuffling sound drew his attention, just in time to glimpse long orange hair disappearing through his open window again.

Grimmjow threw off his covers. “Oi, Hollow! Where do you think you’re going?”

Ichigo’s face reappeared in the window, his expression sour. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ichigo.” Grimmjow pulled on a robe. “Come with me to get breakfast, and then we’ll spar.”

The Hollow hesitated. How unusual. Normally, Grimmjow couldn’t detach him from his hip without Abarai or Kuchiki to distract him.

“What, you got something better to do?”

Ichigo shook his head slowly. “It’s Wednesday,” he reminded.

Oh.

So it was. Grimmjow had forgotten. Kurotsuchi had wanted Ichigo today.

Grimmjow felt like he had just swallowed rocks. All his plans for the day—a good spar, lunch in the courtyard with coconut milk tapioca for Ichigo (Grimmjow had checked the dessert rotation last night), and afternoon training with the seated officers—evaporated on the spot.

Instead, Ichigo would be spending the day in the basements of the twelfth division, getting God-knew-what done to him. Kurotsuchi might keep him all day before sending him to the fourth division. Ichigo probably wouldn’t be up for anything strenuous tomorrow either.

“ _Tch._ ” Grimmjow stopped in the middle of tying his robe. “Fine. Get going, Ichigo.”

Ichigo turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at him. Grimmjow’s hand was on him.

The Hollow had on that expression again, the one that might as well be a mask for all it gave away of his thoughts. But Grimmjow was becoming proficient in deciphering the many nuances of Ichigo’s face, and he felt that this iteration of stoicism had an edge of discontentment to it.

Grimmjow wasn’t sure what he had meant to say. He stared down at his hand clasping Ichigo’s wrist for a long moment, and seconds stretched long before he finally let go.

“I’ll have that coconut milk stuff for you when you get back.”

The corner of Ichigo’s mouth quirked for a brief moment. His eyes looked lighter in the morning sun—golden, almost—more human than the lizard-yellow of his unsealed form. “Okay.”

And then he was gone.

…

Grimmjow felt unsettled all day.

Breakfast had no taste to it, like cardboard made into the shape and general appearance of a fruit salad. Lunch was little better, though he did leave the kitchens with an entire gallon of that coconut milk dessert. The kitchen server had opened her mouth to protest when Grimmjow had tucked the jug under his arm, but he’d given her a _look_ , a dare for her to stop him, and she’d shut it again.

They made this stuff in vats. A single jug missing wasn’t going to starve anyone.

Afternoon training with the seated officers of his division was both unfulfilling and frustrating. An hour in, not one of the officers had landed a single blow on Grimmjow, and the restlessness that had been stewing all day boiled over as Grimmjow beat them all down—with his fists, because he did not draw Pantera for weaklings.

Third seat Hisagi put up his sword and demanded him to stop.

“I will take over for the remainder of the day,” Hisagi said. “Go, Captain.”

Grimmjow’s thoughts were stormy as he went back to his quarters. Once inside, he threw off his captain haori in disgust.

These were the men who hoped to become his lieutenant one day? Hah! As if any of them came close. As if any of them deserved such a position. Not a single one of them had even made him bleed.

Ichigo pushed Grimmjow to his limits every morning, with just his bare hands. He earned Grimmjow’s blood every fucking day. A Hollow would be better suited to become his lieutenant than any of the Shinigami in his ranks—and wasn’t that a laugh?

Grimmjow turned on the tap in his bathtub and dunked his head under it. The shocking jolt of cold water cleared his head a little as he washed the blood splatter from his face.

It was almost dinnertime already. Wasn’t Kurotsuchi done with Ichigo yet? That painted clown had been tinkering with the Hollow for months now. What else could he possibly still be trying to figure out about him?

Dinnertime came and went. Grimmjow kept one eye on the sinking sun, and the other on the main street leading to his division’s barracks. But the only ones approaching were his own division members returning for the night. There was no head of orange hair and a plain yukata coming down the street.

Ichigo wasn’t coming back tonight.

Grimmjow left his window open.

…

Kuchiki Rukia came by in the morning.

The sight of her pissed Grimmjow off, because she could only be here for one thing.

“Ichigo isn’t here,” he said, as she opened her mouth to ask. “So scram, runt.”

She stuck her foot in his doorway before he could slide it shut in her face. Hands on her hips, she leaned forward to cast a quick look around inside. As if Grimmjow was hiding the Hollow behind the blinds or something. “Where is he?”

“With Kurotsuchi and the twelfth.” God, how Grimmjow hated that painted clown. “He’s been there since yesterday.”

Something resonated in Grimmjow with the look on Kuchiki’s face right then—pinched brows, narrowed eyes, and a stubborn set to her jaw—her dislike for Kurotsuchi perhaps rivaled Grimmjow’s own.

“He’s been there all _night_?”

Grimmjow shrugged. “He didn’t come back.”

“Renji and I were going to take him to the shopping district.”

Well, Grimmjow had had plans too. Ichigo now owed him _two_ spars, but after being with the twelfth division for this long, he probably wouldn’t be able to spar at his usual level for at least a few days.

Grimmjow pulled the door against Kuchiki’s foot. She didn’t budge. “Uh-huh. Get out. I got shit to do.”

Kuchiki turned that wrathful glare on him now. “Don’t you even _care_?”

“What, that you can’t take him shopping?”

Grimmjow didn’t see her fist coming, but he did see the stars dancing in front of his eyes afterwards. He cursed, clapped one hand over the spot where Kuchiki had dented his skull, and held up the other with a _Shakkahō_ gathering in his palm.

Who the hell did she think—

“Ichigo is wasted on you!” she snapped.

The hadō spell sputtered out as Grimmjow’s thoughts ground to a halt. Kuchiki turned on her heel, and Grimmjow watched her go dumbly.

Wasted on him?

The fuck was that supposed to mean?

…

Today was panning out to be an even shittier day than yesterday.

Hisagi assisted him in organizing training exercises for the newer recruits. Grimmjow usually found Hisagi to be a tolerable, if somewhat boring presence, but this morning he found Hisagi’s single-minded focus on planning training schedules to be utterly irritating.

Who cared what the new recruits did with their time? They could either drive their own training, or get picked off on missions. Either way, Grimmjow would get left with the stronger ones.

Near noon, Hisagi put down his pen and cleared the desk. “Captain, you are distracted. We can resume this some other time.”

“Eh?” Grimmjow said. He wasn’t looking at Hisagi—for the last several minutes he had been staring out the window down at the main street. The street was full of people coming and going, an endless stream in the daily life of Seireitei. Grimmjow scanned the droves with eyes tuned for orange hair.

“We’ll finish this some other time,” Hisagi repeated.

Once he was gone, Grimmjow rubbed his eyes and yawned.

He should have slept better, considering there had been no scrabble of Hollow feet on his roof tiles all night. But instead, his head buzzed like he had barely slept at all.

His lunchtime errand took him instead to the fourth division compound. At midday, Grimmjow stood outside the gates of the infirmary, wondering how his feet had brought him here instead of the kitchens.

But he wasn’t hungry. He’d walked right past the mess hall and the smell of hot food wafting outside hadn’t even tempted him.

If Kurotsuchi had finished with Ichigo, then Ichigo would most likely be here.

He went inside.

His presence in the corridors of the fourth division turned heads. Captain Jaegerjaquez was not a common sight in the infirmary. Even when he was having his own injuries tended to, he always left as soon as he was physically capable of walking, preferring to rest in his own quarters. Seventh seat Yamada Hanatarō stopped as he passed.

“Um…Captain Jaegerjaquez?”

Grimmjow kept walking. He was here for one thing, and it wasn’t to speak to a mousey officer of the fourth division.

But Yamada turned and kept pace behind him. “Captain Jaegerjaquez? Um…are you looking for the Hollow?”

Grimmjow stopped, and Yamada shrunk in on himself when sharp blue eyes turned to him. “Where is he?”

“It is resting in the med bay,” said Yamada, head bowed and eyes to the floor. “I can take you to it.”

Even when he was leading, the runt walked a half step behind Grimmjow. Grimmjow could practically smell his nerves prickling, his hair standing on end, to be in Grimmjow’s company. A kinder person might have made small talk to ease the tension. Grimmjow let Yamada bring him to their destination in silence.

The med bay stretched four rows of sterile white cots lined down a long room. In wartime, or after a large mission, these cots would be occupied with wounded or recovering Shinigami.

Today, the place was mostly empty. A single fourth division member sat behind a desk, and he looked up as Grimmjow and Yamada entered.

“Captain Jaegerjaquez.” He stood to attention. “Can I help you with something?”

Grimmjow ignored him as he cut a straight path to the single bed at the far corner of the med bay which was occupied.

Ichigo lay on his back amidst the white sheets, a coarse infirmary issue blanket pulled up to his chin. He was utterly still, his eyes closed, his skin pale. He did not stir, even when Grimmjow flexed his reiatsu against him in a way that should make any predator alert in an instant.

 _Weak_.

The sight of him made Grimmjow writhe in his own skin.

Was this really the same mighty creature that had so enthralled Grimmjow once in Hueco Mundo?

Grimmjow seized the blanket and threw it off. Ichigo was clad in the same yukata he had left in the day before, but there were no wounds on him. No bandages, no lingering sensation of healing kidō, no bitter scent of salves or herbs.

Ichigo was unharmed.

Grimmjow stared, bewildered, for a long moment, but then his eyes narrowed, his lip curled. Sneering, he wrapped his fingers around the Hollow’s throat and lifted him out of the bed.

Ichigo’s eyes snapped open at last, and his fingers scrabbled at Grimmjow’s hand. He gasped.

“Captain Jaegerjaquez!” The healers moved to intervene, but Grimmjow cast his other hand out at them, the red glare of _Shakkahō_ gathering in his palm as warning not to come closer.

Grimmjow shook the Hollow like a rag doll.

“Get up,” he rasped, and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. Grimmjow had no name for the madness that had stricken him so suddenly. He could not stand this, could not stand to see Ichigo so weak and helpless. He wanted—he wanted _something_ in answer. “Get up, you piece of shit—”

Ichigo’s face twisted to anger, and he swiped at Grimmjow’s face with outstretched fingers. Sharp claws raked over Grimmjow’s nose and cheek, narrowing missing an eye. His grip loosened, and Ichigo turned his head and buried a mouth full of teeth in his wrist.

Grimmjow roared.

He turned his _Shakkahō_ wielding hand towards Ichigo’s head, and the Hollow released him. Ichigo leapt back several paces and landed on all fours with his teeth bared, Grimmjow’s blood dripping down his chin, his body a rictus of tension and his face a picture of defiance.

Nobody moved. The two members of the fourth division were frozen in place, looking between the two of them as though uncertain who they found more worrying.

Grimmjow’s heart calmed at last. He dispelled the hadō.

This was what Grimmjow had wanted: Ichigo showing his teeth. Ichigo with fire in his eyes and blood on his lips, wild and fierce and tamed by nothing, not even a collar at his throat and cuffs on his limbs.

“Heh.” Grimmjow grinned. “That’s more like it.”

Ichigo straightened up. And just like that, the moment was over. His face brightened, and he went to Grimmjow.

“Home?” Ichigo asked.

“Yeah.”

They turned to go.

“Um…Captain Jaegerjaquez?” Yamada looked torn between nerves and duty. “Is it…is it really okay for you to take it home with you?”

“We should treat your wounds,” his comrade added. “That bite looks—”

“Eh?” Grimmjow held up his wrist. Blood dripped a steady trickle onto the floor. “He ain’t got poison. It’s fine.”

Ichigo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and bared blood-stained teeth in agreement.

“Ichigo alright to leave now?” Grimmjow asked. The Hollow didn’t have a mark on him. What had he been doing here—napping?

“It will be fine,” Yamada said. “Its reiryoku is stabilized now.”

His _reiryoku_?

Grimmjow turned to look at Ichigo as his blood ran cold. What exactly had Kurotsuchi been doing to him?

As they departed the fourth division’s compound, Grimmjow gave the Hollow a closer once-over. Ichigo was a little pale, but otherwise appeared entirely unharmed. He was even walking rather briskly, a touch too fast for Grimmjow’s more relaxed pace, bright eyed and eager.

He was probably just glad to be out of that creepy bastard’s torture basement.

“Yo, Ichigo.”

The Hollow looked back at him.

“What did Kurotsuchi do to you?”

Ichigo fell back into step with him. He frowned, and Grimmjow read his silence as uncertainty how to explain. He had no patience to endure this, so he skipped straight to the point.

“Was he fucking around with your reiryoku?”

Ichigo hesitated, then nodded slowly. His hand came up to touch his chest, over the spot where his yukata hid his Hollow hole. Grimmjow felt an unpleasant drop in his stomach, like he’d missed a step going down stairs.

He had put his fist through Ichigo’s Hollow hole once, partly out of curiosity, partly just to be an asshole. It was the only time he could remember Ichigo ever coming at him with serious intent to make him feel pain.

“He was fucking with your Hollow hole?”

Ichigo nodded again.

That pit in Grimmjow’s gut yawned wide. It constricted his chest.

“Why do you put up with that?” Grimmjow growled. “Smear Kurotsuchi across the floor.”

Ichigo _could_ do it. Grimmjow touched his own face, where the scratches from Ichigo’s hands were still bleeding sluggishly. Ichigo had only blunt fingernails again, not claws.

The reiatsu-suppressing cuffs on him looked unchanged, untarnished, and the unsettling thrum of their negating power was ever-present. Those cuffs were all that held the Gotei and Central 46’s suspicions and fears at bay. Those cuffs kept Ichigo controlled, docile, and a non-threat. Ichigo was sealed—he should not have claws at all—but Grimmjow knew what he had felt raking his face back in the infirmary.

Ichigo was unskilled in deception. He wore his non-existent heart in the open, as expressive as a creature without a heart could be. But still, Grimmjow wondered…

“I want to stay here.” Ichigo said this plainly. “Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s demands were part of that deal.”

He was enduring experimental violation of his reiryoku, just because he wanted to stay in Soul Society? Why? Because he liked eating sweets and going shopping with Kuchiki and Abarai?

Grimmjow was close to giving up trying to understand this Hollow.

“How did a dumb fuck like you ever get to be the strongest Hollow in Hueco Mundo?”

Honestly. Trading all that power, more power than most people could fathom, to be poked and prodded, kept on a leash and muzzle.

Well—Grimmjow flexed his bloody wrist and grimaced—maybe not a muzzle.

With Ichigo in tow now, Grimmjow’s appetite finally returned. He stopped at the mess hall to retrieve his lunch, picked up a dish of mochi balls from the dessert table, and returned to his living quarters. It wasn’t until he was sitting down, Ichigo across the table from him with mochi in his mouth and another in each hand, that the tight coil in Grimmjow’s chest which had been there ever since Ichigo left through his window Wednesday morning finally loosened.

He breathed easy for the first time in a day.

When he brought out the jug of coconut tapioca he had swiped from the kitchen, Ichigo’s jaw dropped so wide that Grimmjow couldn’t help but smirk.

“Heh. Yeah, you loved this stuff last time, didn’t you?”

Grimmjow went to get a bowl and spoon for Ichigo, and when he returned, Ichigo had the jug in his lap, the cap was off, and he was licking his lips.

“Ugh. Don’t drink it straight from the jug, you damn savage.”

Reluctantly, Ichigo let him take the jug to pour out a reasonable portion. Grimmjow replaced the cap and pushed the bowl towards Ichigo.

“One bowl at a time. If you puke because you ate too much, you’re cleaning it up yourself.”

He really should have given him the treat _after_ laying down the rules, because it seemed highly unlikely Ichigo would be listening to anything he said right now. Komamura Sajin had once complained that his pet dog would gorge itself until it threw up. Ichigo couldn’t be deterred by child proof devices though.

“If you throw up, I ain’t bothering to get you this stuff again. You hear me?”

Ichigo nodded hastily. He ignored the spoon Grimmjow had brought for him and held the bowl to his lips instead to drink the thick, milky treat.

Grimmjow leaned back against the wall and regarded the Hollow silently as he helped himself.

Ichigo really _didn’t_ look harmed. But Grimmjow had not known Kurotsuchi’s experiments were becoming so invasive. Testing the limits to Ichigo’s reiatsu, dissecting his spiritual energy and analyzing its components was one thing…experimenting with his reiryoku and his Hollow hole felt like crossing some line that should not be crossed. It came close to soul experimentation, which had been banned long before Grimmjow joined the Gotei.

But Ichigo was a Hollow. Hollow souls were probably fair game for whatever twisted games Kurotsuchi wanted to indulge in.

Ichigo put down the bowl, now empty, and licked his lips. Grimmjow reached into his robes and pulled out a roll of linen bandages. He tossed them to Ichigo.

“I swiped these from the infirmary.”

For Ichigo to wrap around his chest and cover up that hole, as he liked to do. Grimmjow wasn’t sure why he bothered; what was the point in pretending he wasn’t a Hollow and hiding his nature? Ichigo was the strongest Hollow Grimmjow had ever known. That was nothing to be ashamed of.

But Ichigo preferred to pretend to fit in, and a happy, comfortable Ichigo was more likely to give Grimmjow the sparring he craved than one who was on edge and bitchy.

Ichigo curled his fingers around the roll and held it like it was some kind of treasured gift rather than just a unit of spare medical supply that no one would miss. “Thank you, Grimmjow.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. Dessert and a roll of bandages was all it took for Ichigo to shake off what was probably a nightmarish day in the twelfth division. The Hollow was ridiculously easy to please.

“Fight me.”

Ichigo gave him a _look_ , and even though his expression was neither downright annoyed nor displeased, Grimmjow knew he was exasperated.

“Fine.” Grimmjow hadn’t really expected Ichigo would feel up for a spar today anyways, but he had to try. “I’ll let you off the hook for today.”

Tomorrow, though, he’d try to make Ichigo spit up blood. Grimmjow rubbed his bitten wrist, reliving the memory of Ichigo wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth bared and stained red. Ichigo looked _good_ with blood on his lips.

Ichigo was still looking at him, and now he wore a faint frown.

“What? I got something on my face?”

Ichigo reached for his face. Grimmjow flinched as the Hollow’s fingers brushed over his cheek and nose, which stung at the touch. _Ah._

“You worried about scarring my face? Something like this ain’t gonna scar, dumbass.” He swatted the Hollow’s hand away and turned back to his lunch.

The meal prepared by the kitchens today was chicken donburi, and Grimmjow couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a meal so thoroughly. Just that morning, he had woken up in a foul mood, poorly rested, on edge and restless for a fight.

He still hadn’t gotten that fight, and it looked like he wouldn’t for at least another day, but Grimmjow wasn’t squirming in his skin anymore. He stretched out his legs, leaned back, and savored his meal. He was…settled, for the first time in a day.

Across the table, Ichigo’s eye was on the dessert jug. Grimmjow pretended not to notice, but his resolve wavered when the Hollow turned to him.

His eyes were very large, and his face was—distractingly, annoyingly—handsome. Did he know this about himself? Perhaps not. Ichigo had better things to concern himself with in Hueco Mundo than staring at reflective surfaces.

Grimmjow looked at the open dessert jar in front of him. When had he unscrewed it? “Last one for now, greedy bastard,” he grumbled, as he poured out another bowl. Ichigo sat up straighter, his eyes bright as Grimmjow pushed the bowl over.

As Ichigo tipped the bowl back to his mouth, his slender throat bobbed with every swallow. He was strange to look at, sometimes. Simply looking at him, would anyone dare imagine the sheer power he held? Would anyone guess the devastation he was capable of, the threat Seireitei considered him to be?

In the lower districts of southern Rukongai, some people told the stories of an old god who wandered at the close of dusk and took the shape of an elderly hunched man with hand outstretched. Offering him a scrap of bread or coin found one returned with good fortune, while those who spat on him would meet his true form—a three-faced radiant god who repaid disdain with pitiless judgment.

Not all things were as they appeared.

An old beggar man could be a god. A beautiful orange-haired boy could be a monstrous demon Hollow.

Grimmjow set down his dish, his mind eclipsed by these thoughts as Ichigo sat content across from him, oblivious to them all.

The day stretched long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is an omake fic, updates will not be regular as I prioritize the main story, [Strangers, Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385194). Head over if you want to know how this all started.

**Author's Note:**

> All illustrations, headcanons, activity updates, and related content can be found on **[my tumblr under the tag for this series](https://copperscript.tumblr.com/tagged/series%3A-Strangers-Again)**. 
> 
> I'm also on twitter [@Copperscript](https://twitter.com/Copperscript)


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